


Extrication

by Kelly



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Firefighters, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Breaking Up & Making Up, Emergency Medical Technicians, F/F, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Illness, Slow Burn, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:20:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25984270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelly/pseuds/Kelly
Summary: Nicky is a paramedic assigned to Station 66, the oldest firehouse in London. He joins a team of some of the city's best firefighters, police officers, EMTs, and dispatchers. Under Fire Captain Andy, the first responders at Station 66 struggle to balance saving those who are at their most vulnerable with solving the problems in their own lives.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 189
Kudos: 1008





	1. Chapter 1

“I don’t like him,” Joe says, scrubbing the pot with more vigor than is strictly necessary. Large windows separate the kitchen from the apparatus bay where the vehicles are parked, so Joe can see the new guy, Nicky, talking to Nile. Joe watches him hop up into the back of the ambulance, pulling down a box of something as they go over the rig’s inventory.

“You just met him this morning,” Andy muses, reading the newspaper at the counter.

“Are you questioning my instincts, boss?” Joe glances at her and smiles slightly.

She snorts, not even looking up from the article. “He comes highly recommended, and he seems solid.”

“It isn’t fair to Nile,” Joe tries next. “She only has another two hundred hours left to get her EMT cert, and we’re throwing some new guy at her.”

“That ‘new guy’ is a decorated combat medic, and he has experience as a paramedic at the 47.”

Joe waves a dismissive hand, bubbles from the dishwater floating between them. “I meant new to _us_. If someone is going to train Nile, it should be someone we know. I don’t trust the guys at the 47 as far as I can throw them.”

Andy dog-ears her paper to look at Joe properly, her expression unimpressed. “You’re just mad because he didn’t laugh at your joke.”

“What? No—that’s, come on, I didn’t even _make_ a joke.” He turns back to the sink with a huff.

Andy smirks. “It drives you crazy that someone might not think you’re funny.”

“I’m hilarious,” Joe mutters, dunking the pot in the water.

Whatever Andy was about to say is cut off by the familiar blare of the alarm, a voice coming over the station speaker, “Engine 99, Ambulance 43, two vehicle crash, Putney Bridge.”

They both drop what they’re doing, running to their gear. With practiced speed, Joe pulls up his heavy trousers and slides the suspenders over his shoulders, grabbing his jacket off the hook as he jams his feet into boots. Joe catches a glimpse of Nicky as he slams the door shut on the ambulance. Joe climbs into the engine just as the bay doors crank open. Both vehicles flip on their lights and sirens as they take off, the ambulance driven by Nile following the fire engine as they weave through the city. Booker blares the horn as they cross an intersection.

Joe secures his gloves, doing up the front zip of his black jacket. The reflective safety strips decorating his biceps, forearms, and waist flash as he moves. Matching strips run down the outside of his legs and wrap around the cuff of his black trousers. London Fire Brigade is emblazoned in all capitals across the back of his jacket, a velcroed strip reading al-Kaysani stuck at the base of his back. A walkie talkie is clipped to his jacket, and the other side of his chest displays a small crest with the fire department emblem. Joe adjusts his headset, identical to ones Andy and Booker are wearing so they can talk over the sound of the sirens and Booker’s blaring horn. “I’m just saying that he’s not Lykon,” he speaks into the mic.

“Are you talking about the new guy?” Booker says into his headset from the driver seat.

“Yeah. What do you think about him?” Joe is counting on Booker’s general antipathy toward strangers to get another person on his side.

“He seems weird,” Booker shrugs.

Andy sighs loudly into her headset. “I know we’re all missing Lykon, but we have to be supportive. He didn’t want to be in the field anymore. Call 9-9-9 if you miss him so much. I want you both to be welcoming to Nicky—he’s part of the team now.”

“I’m plenty welcoming,” Joe mumbles.

Booker pulls the engine over at the scene of the accident, Nile and Nicky’s ambulance angling out beside them. Police start to arrive on scene to manage traffic. Two cars block the northbound traffic lanes, one vehicle smoking in the center of the road and the other crashed over the side barrier of the bridge. About one-third of the car rests precariously over the edge, the water of the Thames moving sluggishly fifteen meters below. Booker, Andy, and Joe climb out of the engine.

Andy effortlessly manages the scene. “Book, Joe, secure the vehicle on the edge, I don’t want it sliding any further out. I’ll check the other driver.”

They split up, Nicky and Nile jogging over to Andy. When they see that the driver in the middle of the road is coherent and stable, Nicky leaves Nile there to check him over and joins the boys at the car on the edge of the bridge. Nicky doesn’t hesitate, reaching his arm into the broken driver’s side window, knocking some of the glass out in the process. The driver is slumped over the steering wheel, her blonde hair matted blood. The windshield is shattered in front of her, a spiderweb of cracks extending out in all directions. Nicky places two fingers against her neck, and his eyes connect with Joe’s. They’re standing closer together than Joe realized, and now he can properly see the color the Nicky’s eyes. He’d noticed the intensity of Nicky’s gaze when they met that morning and shook hands, but he hadn’t really _looked_. Neither of them says anything for what feels like a minute, Joe unconsciously holding his breath. Nicky looks away and gives a small shake of his head. Joe whirs back to life, refocusing on the task at hand. Nicky moves his attention to the back seat where a blonde girl no older than seven is seated in the middle. The door doesn’t budge when he tries the handle.

“Hello, we’re here to help get you out, okay?” Nicky says through the window, and his voice has such a calm and soothing lilt that it surprises Joe. Joe hasn’t heard him say more than a dozen words, so he’s suddenly treated to the full effect of Nicky’s Italian accent. Booker nudges Joe to get him going again, and they work seamlessly to secure the rear of the car so it won’t fall off the bridge. Nicky continues speaking to the girl, “What’s your name?”

“Charlotte,” she replies in a wavering voice that Joe can barely hear.

“Charlotte, I’m Nicky. This is Booker and—” Nicky pauses, and looks at Joe, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face.

Joe blanches. “Joe,” he supplies, his voice strangled. He might have more to say if he wasn’t applying his full weight to the back of the car. Joe doesn’t miss Booker snickering beside him.

“Joe,” Nicky adds, and then his attention is fully back on the girl. “Do you hurt anywhere?”

Joe mentally shakes himself to keep on task. Once he and Booker successfully brace the car, Booker runs back to the rig to get the hydraulic rescue tools.

“Is my mum okay?” Charlotte asks in a small voice.

“I want to worry about you first, okay?” Nicky says softly. “Where does it hurt, Charlotte?”

“My…my middle.”

“Your chest or your stomach? Can you move your arms and point to it for me?”

Charlotte lifts a hand and points to her upper chest.

“Does it hurt when you breathe?” Nicky asks, taking off his jacket. Joe has no idea why, because it’s starting to drizzle. His outfit is lighter weight than Joe’s gear; Nicky isn’t meant to be running into fires. Nicky rests his jacket on the car, revealing his Station 66 t-shirt with paramedic printed across the top of his back. His attention has not wavered from Charlotte.

“Maybe,” Charlotte says, sniffling. “I don’t know.”

Booker returns with the jaws of life, and nods to Nicky.

“That’s okay. Charlotte, it’s going to get noisy. Joe and Booker are going to get you out, just hang on a second, okay?”

“Okay,” she says through the tears.

Joe and Booker position the machine, the metal of the car starting to creak and bend. The rear driver’s side door breaks free from the frame of the vehicle, and they move away the jaws. Booker lifts the door off the side of the car and carries it aside. Joe is in immediately, cutting Charlotte out of her seatbelt. He takes the C-collar Nicky hands him.

“I’m just going to put this around your neck, okay Charlotte?” Joe says, and her lip quivers. He velcros it around her neck and lifts her out, glass crunching under his boots on the car floor. Nicky is right there to take her, Joe’s gloved hands brushing over Nicky’s bare forearms as he passes him the girl. She immediately curls into Nicky’s chest, letting out a sob. “I want my mum.”

“I know, I’m sorry Charlotte.”

Joe realizes Nicky draped his jacket in such a way that it covers the driver’s side window, blocking the woman’s body from their view. Joe’s heart beats a little faster, watching Nicky carry Charlotte to the ambulance. Nicky sets her on the exterior step at the rear of the vehicle, kneeling down so he can check her vitals. Joe can see his lips moving, still talking to her, but he can’t hear what he’s saying from his place at the car.

“We need to recover the mother,” Booker says quietly, breaking Joe out of his trance.

Joe looks back at Nicky’s jacket, then back at the rig. “Hold on, wait until he gets her inside.”

Nicky gestures to Nile, who joins him at the ambulance. They say a few words, then he helps Charlotte into the back and closes the door behind them. Nile climbs into the driver’s seat. A minute passes, then over the radio Nile’s voice comes through: “Ambulance 43, en route to Charing Cross. Patient is a seven year old female, suspected broken ribs and internal bleeding. ETA four minutes.”

“Copy 43.”

Nile flicks on the lights and siren as they leave the scene. Joe grabs Nicky’s jacket off the car, looking at the body of Charlotte’s mother. He exhales, then lifts up the jaws and he and Booker get to work.

* * *

The ambulance is already parked in the apparatus bay when Engine 99 returns. Joe hops out of the rig once it rolls to a stop, Nicky’s jacket clutched in one hand. Joe ditches his own jacket, but he hasn’t removed his trousers and suspenders yet. He’s had time to think about Nicky forgetting his name, and he’s decided to not be a prick about it. It is Nicky’s first day, after all.

He approaches the ambulance where Nicky and Nile are restocking and cleaning the back. Nile smiles widely when she sees him. “Joe, Nicky let me put in that little girl’s IV, isn’t that cool?”

“It’s more difficult to find a vein on children. You did very well,” Nicky says, and Joe thinks he sees the start of a smile on his lips. He backtracks in his mind to when they first met. Nicky seemed so impassive. What if he just wasn’t very expressive? Maybe Joe misjudged him. Maybe.

“Good job, Freeman,” Joe grins at Nile. Then he glances back at Nicky. “I grabbed this from the scene for you.” He holds out the jacket to him.

Nicky pauses restocking the contents of a stainless steel cabinet. He glances at the jacket, then at Joe’s face, and reaches out to take it. His fingers brush against Joe’s when his hand closes around the jacket’s collar. Joe’s fingers twitch at the brief touch, surprised that Nicky’s skin is dry and rough. “Thank you,” Nicky says quietly.

Joe’s hand drops back to his side, and he subconsciously flexes his fingers. “That was nice…what you did for her,” he adds.

Nile glances between the two of them seeming surprised, and she lifts an eyebrow at Joe. Joe has no idea what that look is supposed to mean and ignores her.

Nicky has the same idea, or he just doesn’t notice Nile. Nicky replies, “No child should see that. It was the right thing to do.”

“Right, of course,” Joe nods. “Do you know if Charlotte is okay?”

“She was stable when we dropped her off at the hospital.

Joe rubs the back of his neck. “Good. That’s good. Hey, we're all going to the pub around the corner when shift ends. You should join us.”

“Ah,” Nicky says, pulling his jacket back on. “I can’t. But thank you for the invitation.”

“Sure, next time.” Joe turns around before he can say anything else and walks quickly back into the day room. Booker has the game on, and for lack of anything better to do, Joe sits down in the armchair next to him. Booker tilts a bag of chips toward him, and Joe shakes his head.

* * *

Nicky seems content with long silences, but a few times he initiates conversation throughout their 24-hour shift.

“Why do you want to be a firefighter?” he asks Nile, the two of them sitting in the back of the ambulance, listening to the rain outside. The doors to the ambulance are open so they can look out at the bay and see into the day room and kitchen through the windows. Nicky is seated on the floor of the rig with his back against the wall, his foot propped on the rear step. Nile has taken up the paramedic seat beside the stretcher. They both have books out, Nicky’s a small novel and Nile’s a fat study guide for her EMT proficiency exam.

“My dad was a firefighter. One of the best.” She sets her book aside—any excuse not to study. “He was captain at this house.”

Nicky glances at her. “Really?”

Nile nods. “He died in the line of duty.”

Nicky studies her for a moment, his finger marking the page of his book as he dangles it over his bent knee. Nile isn’t used to the level of scrutiny she feels under Nicky’s gaze. “But you still want to pick up the mantle.”

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Why?” The intensity of his gaze continues to surprise her, but there’s no accusation in the question.

Nile has to stop to think about it. She’s told the story of her father’s death so many times that she’s desensitized to it. She was young when it happened, so now it is just that: a story. No one ever pushed her for something beyond it. There’s the usual justification about helping people, but that feels hollow somehow—like Nicky’s sharp eyes will see through the abstraction. “I guess I just…never thought I would do anything else,” she admits.

Nicky seems satisfied by this. “I understand.”

“Do you like it? Being a paramedic?”

Nicky nods. “You have the potential to do a vast amount of good, Nile. Hold on to that. There are days you might need to remind yourself.”

“I’ve been on bad calls,” she says, but it comes out sounding defensive. She isn’t so fresh that she’s never lost someone.

He pauses for a moment, choosing his next words carefully. “It’s easy to let the good calls blend together,” he explains. “But you will always remember the bad ones. They have a way of compounding the more time you work the job. It’s something we all deal with in our own ways.”

“How do you deal with it?” she asks.

Nicky is silent for a long moment. Nile thinks he isn’t going to answer, but then he says, “I used to turn to God, but that didn’t help as much as I needed. I’m still figuring it out.”

The cross around Nile’s neck feels a little heavier. She doesn’t want to lose that connection to her faith. “Doesn’t it help though?” she reasons. “Thinking that…maybe the calls that don’t work out were just God’s will?”

Nicky shrugs. “There will be calls where your victim is DOA, or it’s clear there was nothing you could have done. But there will be a lot of other calls where you will second guess every little thing you did because it felt like that person had a chance. Now their heart has stopped, and you’re on their chest doing compressions, and your mind just cycles through whether you were fast enough, smart enough, whether you made the right call. It might be a little different when you’re a firefighter, but you are still playing God in people’s lives. You are the direct line to their chance at survival. Sometimes you won’t be good enough—or that’s how it feels to me.”

Nile looks down at the book in her lap. “You’re not going to talk me out of being a firefighter,” she says quietly.

He shakes his head. “I apologize. That was not my intention. I think you made the right choice being here. I just wanted you to know that sometimes the burdens we carry are heavy, but they’re lighter when shared.”

She smiles a little. “Thanks.”

He nods and reopens his book to resume reading.

* * *

They take eight more calls that shift. It is a standard 24 hours; they respond to a barfight, five car accidents, a broken gas line, and an elderly man who fell.

At every call, Joe can’t help but watch Nicky. He is unflappable; comforting to his patients and self-assured as he directs Nile. He is also _fast_. Joe doesn’t have to call him over once, because he is already there, seemingly able to anticipate what Joe needs before he has a chance to ask. Scenes clear faster than Joe is used to, and he wonders if it is just a good day or if Nicky is just an excellent paramedic.

Joe slings his duffle bag over his shoulder, dressed in his jeans and a fitted t-shirt. He grins at Andy as they head to the door. “Boss, we’re going to Eight Bells. Are you joining?”

“Not today,” Andy hums, looking distractedly at her watch. “Besides, you all should take Nicky out without me. Get to know him without the captain looking over your shoulder.”

“Ah, he’s not coming.” Joe says, averting his gaze.

“Well good thing you told me; I was going to say you could take money from the can. Now you’re on your own.” She smirks, giving him a pat on the arm. “See you in 48 hours.” She climbs into her car, the first to pull out of the parking lot.

Joe spots Booker talking to Nile by their cars, but Nicky is just leaving the building with his bag. His shirt is rumpled, which Joe finds oddly charming. Joe jogs over to him before he can think better of it.

“Hey,” Joe smiles at Nicky, seeming to take him off guard.

“Hello.” Nicky stops and waits.

Joe shifts his weight. He’s usually a lot smoother than this, but Nicky isn’t making it easier on him. Their eyes catch and hold, and for a moment Joe forgets what he came over here to say. When Nicky adjusts his bag on his shoulder, it breaks Joe out of his trance. He takes a breath, then tries again. “You should come to the pub with us. We won’t be out too long, I promise.”

Now it’s Nicky’s turn to look uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, Joe.”

Joe’s smile falters. “It was a long shift—I know. We could meet up tomorrow if that’s better for you.”

Nicky exhales, considering Joe for a long moment. Then finally he says, “I’m sober.”

Joe stops, suddenly feeling like a total ass. “Oh,” he breaths. “I didn’t—”

“It’s fine,” Nicky interrupts him. “It’s just not something I’m advertising.”

Now Joe feels even worse for pressuring him into going. For making Nicky feel like he had to tell him. “We can go grab pizza?” Joe tries. “There are a ton of restaurants around here.”

Nicky shakes his head. “You already have plans. I don’t want you to change them for me.”

“But I want to change them,” Joe says, before he can think better of it.

Something akin to a smile flickers across Nicky’s face, but then he looks down before Joe can fully appreciate it. “Thank you. Let’s do something after next shift, okay?”

Joe nods.

Nicky walks toward his late-90s Fiat, but then turns back to face Joe. “A pair of medics,” he says suddenly, and there’s a real smile on his face this time.

Joe’s eyebrows furrow, trying to track where that came from but also completely taken by Nicky’s smile. “What?” he asks dumbly.

“A _pair_ of medics—paramedics. It was a pun.”

Joe’s face suddenly heats up when he remembers the cringeworthy joke he made when he met Nicky that morning. “Oh, yeah, that.”

“Sorry, I just—” Nicky gestures around his ear. “English isn’t my first language and sometimes I don’t get the puns. I’ve been thinking about it all day. It’s funny.”

Joe lets out a weak laugh, shaking his head. “It really isn’t.”

Nicky chuckles, a warm sound that Joe wants to chase. “It is. Goodnight, Joe.” He turns and walks the rest of the way to his car.

“Have a good night, Nicky,” Joe calls after him, wondering why he’s blushing.

* * *

The glass doors whir open automatically as Andy strides into the sleek, modern building. She turns the corner with purpose, walking at a quick pace. She’s late. She turns another corner and comes up short at the sight of the woman standing there. She looks effortless, her turtleneck tucked into dark, high-waisted jeans. Her long black hair is pulled up into a ponytail. Her badge is clipped to her belt. She glances up from her phone when Andy appears.

“Detective,” Andy says, for lack of anything better to say.

A flicker of irritation crosses the woman’s face. “Captain,” she parrots Andy’s tone. “Is that what we’re doing now?”

Andy frowns. “What are you doing here, Quynh?”

“I’m here to support you.”

“Is that what you’re doing? Supporting me?” Andy checks her watch. “I’m late, I don’t have time for this right now.”

Quynh exhales. “I don’t want you to do this alone.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what you want.”

“I won’t apologize for not wanting to watch you die,” Quynh says sharply, and Andy flinches. Quynh looks away and exhales an unsteady breath. “I told you I can’t be with you if this is how you’re going to handle it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

“It’s my life, Quynh.”

Quynh just sighs.

“I really can’t do this right now,” Andy says, resuming walking.

Quynh falls into step beside her. “If you don’t want me at the appointment, I’ll leave.”

Andy hesitates. “I don’t want to hear about how I’m making the wrong choice,” she warns.

“I think I’ve made myself abundantly clear on that front.”

“You have,” Andy agrees, looking away. “Fine, you can come.”

Quynh nods, opening the door to the doctor’s office for Andy. They walk in together.

After pleasantries, Andy and Quynh sit down across the desk from the doctor. The doctor pulls up Andy’s file on her computer, clicking through a few things. Her face is perfectly impassive, and finally she turns to them and says, “The cancer is not responding to medication as well as we hoped.” She folds her hands on the desk to look at Andy with kind eyes. “We knew that was a risk. I think it’s time to revisit chemo as an option.”

Andy vigorously shakes her head. “No. I can’t work if I’m on chemo.” Quynh reaches across the arms of their chairs to take Andy’s hand, a gentle pressure. She doesn’t say anything, but Andy knows what Quynh _wants_ to say. “I’m not giving up my career,” Andy says, her voice resolute.

The doctor smiles sadly. “We can adjust your medications, but I want to be completely clear. Even if we get the perfect dose, all we’re doing is slowing the growth. Without chemotherapy and surgery, we’re only delaying the inevitable. You’re young, Andy. You could have a long life ahead of you if you fought this. I’m afraid I won’t be saying the same thing in six months if things keep progressing like we’re seeing now.”

There is a beat of silence before Andy says, “Let’s adjust the medication.”

Quynh retracts her hand.


	2. Chapter 2

Andy makes sure the door shuts softly behind her, wanting to be a courteous houseguest. It’s really the least she can do. She crosses the room to the kitchen island, setting her bag on the counter. The two-story loft is airy and open, light from the tall windows reflecting off the exposed metal pipes that wind up the wall. The interior walls are gray concrete, and the outer walls are exposed brick. It’s exactly the mix of industrial and historic styles that she would expect from one of her oldest friends.

“How was your shift?” Lykon asks from his seat in front of the fireplace, setting a bookmark in the novel he was reading. The fire is unlit given the mild temperatures, but Lykon has fake candles set up around the room for ambiance. He doesn’t use real candles; he knows better after responding to one too many apartment fires.

“It was good,” Andy nods. “Our new paramedic started today. I think he’s going to fit in fine with the house, and he does a good job instructing Nile.”

“Not like she needs much instruction,” Lykon muses. He gets up, a slight limp in his walk as he goes to the fridge. “There’s leftover Thai if you want some.”

“That sounds great,” she says, getting herself a plate from the cabinet while he unboxes the food. “I have an appointment tomorrow to look at a flat. I won’t be in your hair much longer.”

Lykon gives her a smile and rubs his hand over his short buzz cut. “Luckily, I don’t have much hair to get into.” He opens the takeaway containers and pushes them toward her. “You’re always welcome here, Andy. Maybe you should stay a little longer.”

Andy looks down at the food, scooping the pad Thai noodles onto her plate. “You’ve been generous giving me a place to crash, but I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

He hesitates, loosely crossing his arms before he breaches the topic on both their minds. “If you need more time to work things out with Quynh, I really don’t mind. It’s better you’re here than stuck in a lease.”

Andy turns to put her plate in the microwave. “There’s nothing to work out with Quynh. I need to get my own place.”

“I don't want to pry into your business, Andy, but you two are like my family. You’ve been together as long as I’ve known you.”

“Then maybe it was time for a change,” she says quietly, staring at the rotating tray in the microwave. She can feel Lykon’s eyes on her, the silence weighty for a moment.

Finally, he sighs. “I just hate to see you two like this.”

“I’m sorry if I put you in the middle.”

“You didn’t. Quynh wanted you to stay here.”

Of course she did. Andy takes her plate out of the microwave before the food is fully heated, stabbing the noodles with a fork. “What did she tell you?” She knows it couldn’t have been the truth. Lykon wouldn’t have been silent about it for so long.

“Nothing.” He shrugs. He gets himself a glass of water at the sink. “Irreconcilable differences, that’s what she said.”

“Yeah, that’s one way to put it,” Andy muses, taking a bite as she leans against the stove. She notices Lykon is still standing with her, and she nods to the barstools. Wordlessly, they both take a seat. “How are you feeling?” She asks, partly out of concern for a friend and partly to change the subject.

Lykon, being the true friend he is, lets her. “The surgical site is completely healed, and my physical therapist has cleared me to lift up to twenty pounds. I should be back to normal in another month.”

Andy doesn’t ask about the limp that has no medical explanation. “Psychosomatic” is the word the doctor used. “You know there’s always a place for you at the house once you’re at full strength. It doesn’t feel right without you there.”

Lykon smiles faintly. “I know. I want to come back, I just…” his voice trails off.

Andy nods. “Everyone is supportive of your transfer to dispatch. You’ll be great at it.”

“It is fun bossing you guys around,” he grins that full smile that she misses every shift without him. For a few minutes they’re silent as Andy eats her lukewarm food. Finally, Lykon says, “I won’t ask you to talk to Quynh, but I wish you would.”

“I’ll think about it,” she lies. “But I’m still going to see that flat tomorrow.”

Lykon lifts up his glass. “I know how to quit when I’m ahead.”

Andy chuckles, and because she doesn’t have a glass, she clinks his cup with her fork.

* * *

Joe barely sees Nicky and Nile the morning of their next shift. The ambulance gets called out three times on medical emergencies that don’t need support from the engine, and it’s almost noon when Nile finally backs the rig into the bay.

It’s perfect timing because Joe and Booker are almost done making lunch. Joe watches the ambulance through the windows, busy chopping romaine lettuce for a salad because, according to Andy, “You have to actually eat the vegetables to get the nutrients, not just watch them go bad.”

Nicky exits the passenger side of the rig and goes around to the back to open the door. His hair is wet from the steady downpour of rain outside. Joe watches as he pushes his hand through his hair, and it sticks up at odd angles. Nile joins Nicky at the rear of the ambulance and they talk for a moment before Nile heads for the door to the dayroom and kitchen. Nicky does something in the back of the ambulance and removes his jacket. His paramedic shirt is tight across his upper back and broad shoulders, his lean muscles bunching under the fabric.

A burst of pain surprises Joe, and he drops the knife with a clatter. “Shit,” he mutters, smearing blood across the cutting board.

Booker leans back from the stove where he’s frying eggs for croque madame to see what happened, and he makes a face at the sight of blood. “No salad, I guess.”

Joe huffs, grabbing a wad of paper napkins and wrapping them around his pointer finger where he’s steadily bleeding from the cut. “Guess not.”

Andy is peeling an orange at the counter, unphased by Joe’s accident, starting to section the orange into pieces. “You should have Nile look at that.” She pops an orange piece into her mouth.

Joe glances out the window again, Nicky’s back still to him, and he quickly looks at Nile. “Sure,” he says. “Nile?”

Nile smiles slightly, then glances out the window to follow Joe’s gaze. “I’d love to help, but I really have to file these reports.”

“I can look at it,” Andy offers, eating another slice of orange.

“I don’t want to bother you, boss, you’re busy. I’m going to just—” he tilts his head toward the apparatus bay. Joe is already backing out of the door, his hand still clutched around the napkins stemming the blood.

He pretends he doesn’t hear Andy say to Booker, “I’m not even doing anything.”

Joe walks across the bay to the ambulance, quashing the flutter of uncertainty in his gut. “Nicky,” he greets him.

“Joe,” Nicky says as he turns around, and the small smile on his lips immediately drops when he spots the bloody napkins Joe is holding. His eyebrows furrow in concern. “What happened?”

“Just a small kitchen accident.”

“You should be more careful.” Coming from anyone else Joe would think they were kidding, but Nicky’s tone is entirely serious.

Joe breaths a laugh. “Yeah, you’re not the first to tell me. Can you look at it?”

“Of course. Sit.” Nicky climbs up into the ambulance, pulling on a pair of gloves. He retrieves a few things from a drawer before joining Joe, who takes a seat on the rear step. Nicky sits down on Joe’s left, their hips almost touching. He takes Joe’s hand in his, carefully removing the soiled napkins. The last layer sticks to his skin, and Joe cringes without meaning to when it pulls slightly at the wound.

“I’m sorry,” Nicky murmurs, sensing his discomfort. Without pressure, the cut bleeds freely, and Nicky uses gauze to mop up the blood. His touch is gentle as he manipulates Joe’s hand to get a better look at the wound, one hand against his wrist, the other against his palm and finger. The plastic feel of his gloves reminds Joe of when he gave Nicky his jacket last shift and their bare hands touched. Joe’s cheeks start to heat up at the memory. Nicky’s head is very close to Joe’s face as he inspects the injury, his hair still damp and charmingly askew.

“Are you in pain?” Nicky asks, his voice steady.

“No, it’s not bad.”

“Really? Your heartrate is elevated.” Nicky pauses to look at Joe’s face, their eyes connecting.

Joe’s breath catches, momentarily trapped by the intensity of Nicky’s gaze. His face is so close. Joe has to look away, his gaze dropping to Nicky’s hands on his palm and his wrist. “Are you taking my pulse?” he accuses.

A tiny smile flickers across Nicky’s features. “Yes. Do I need permission for every step of treating you?”

“That just seems unnecessary,” Joe mutters, his cheeks hot.

Nicky just hums, looking back at Joe’s finger. “You could use a few sutures.”

“Can you do that?”

“Yes, but we’re not authorized to do sutures in the field.”

“I’d consider it a favor if you did,” Joe gives him his best smile.

Nicky is not swayed by Joe’s charm. “I would need a sterile area. It really would be much easier—and safer—if I just took you to A&E.” Nicky applies pressure to Joe’s cut with fresh gauze. It hurts, but not so much when Joe focuses on the gentle way Nicky’s hands support his. Joe shifts, and the fabric of his trousers brushes against Nicky’s.

“It could be a good learning experience for Nile,” Joe continues. He doesn’t know why it’s suddenly so important to him that Nicky is the one to stitch the cut. Maybe because the injury is Nicky’s fault, in a roundabout way.

Nicky hums, elevating Joe’s hand as he applies pressure, keeping the wound higher than Joe’s heart to slow the bleeding. Joe’s heart that is beating unnaturally fast, apparently. “If the captain approves it, I’ll stitch your hand.”

Joe smiles triumphantly. “Perfect. Let’s go ask her.”

“Hold on.” Nicky grabs his roll of medical tape and tears off a piece. He wraps it around the gauze, securing it snuggly to Joe’s finger. The little squeeze he gives Joe's hand in the process is seared into Joe's brain. “Too tight?”

“No, feels good," he manages.

Nicky nods, standing. He throws the bloody napkins, the gauze, and his gloves in the biowaste bin. He offers Joe a hand up.

Joe clasps Nicky’s forearm with his uninjured hand, letting Nicky help him to his feet. Joe’s thumb swipes against the inside of Nicky’s arm, finding the skin there much softer than the man’s hands. He wonders, fleetingly, about the rest of him.

Nicky opens the door to the dayroom for Joe, and they find the rest of the team eating lunch at the table. There are plates set aside for Joe and Nicky, sans salad.

“Joe needs stitches,” Nicky announces summarily.

“Nice one, al-Kaysani,” Booker muses. “We haven’t even taken a call yet and you’re already gunning for a medical discharge.”

“Woah, no one’s pulling me off shift,” Joe holds his hands up. “Nicky can stitch me up.”

Andy lifts an eyebrow at Joe. “Can he now?”

“With your blessing,” Joe smiles at her.

Andy ignores him and instead turns her attention to Nicky. “You’re trained in sutures?”

“Yes. I did them all the time in the army.”

“Can you do them safely?”

“Of course.”

There is a momentary pause, then she shrugs. “Fine.”

Joe grins in triumph, and he and Nile high five.

“I don’t understand why you don’t want to go to A&E,” Nicky shakes his head, loosely crossing his arms.

“Can I do one of Joe’s stitches?” Nile asks.

“No,” Nicky says, as Andy simultaneously says, “Absolutely not.” They glance at each other in appreciation.

Andy smiles slightly. “Freeman can stitch a banana.”

“Waste of a good banana,” Booker laments.

“Your potassium intake will have to yield to my need to learn,” Nile says cheekily.

Booker scoffs, taking a bite of his sandwich. “It seems everyone is intent on destroying our food today.”

“I have never once seen you eat a banana,” Andy points out.

“Well, now I may never have the opportunity.”

Joe rolls his eyes before looking at Nicky. “Do you need to eat first? I don’t want you getting low blood sugar and passing out with a needle in my hand.”

“No,” Nicky says, the ghost of a smile passing over his lips. “Although I could use a coffee.”

“That won’t make you shaky?”

Nicky gives him the most deadpan expression Joe has ever seen. “I don’t shake. But if you’re concerned, I will happily take you to A&E.”

Joe grins broadly. “Nope, no getting out of it now. Someone get this man a coffee. Stitch me up, doc.”

“I am not a doctor,” Nicky says, and Joe can’t tell if he’s making a joke or not.

“I’ll get the coffee,” Nile jumps up.

“Thank you,” Nicky nods to her, then gestures for Joe to go sit at the other table in the dayroom. “I’ll go get the supplies.” He leaves for the apparatus bay to get what he needs out of the ambulance.

“You really didn’t have to go through all this trouble to get Nicky’s attention,” Booker jokes.

“Ha ha, you caught me,” Joe says with an eye roll.

Booker pauses, his eyes narrowing as he studies Joe. “Wait a minute—did you cut yourself just to have an excuse to talk to the new guy?” Of course Booker is teasing, but the realization that there might be a grain of truth to it is ripe material for ribbing.

Joe glares at Booker. “I didn’t, you know that.”

Booker smirks. He doesn’t believe Joe for a second.

Nile sits down across from Joe, setting a steaming cup of coffee on the table and a banana.

“What about for me?” Joe asks with big eyes.

“You’re not teaching me; I owe you nothing.”

“I’m _injured_.”

“Whose fault is that?” Nile smiles.

Joe just grunts, looking away.

Nile leans in conspiratorially. “I can try to get the low down on Nicky, if you want.”

“I do not need the _low down_ on Nicky,” he hisses. “We’re not twelve. He’s a colleague, and I am a professional.”

“Since when?” Booker asks from across the room, speaking through a mouthful of sandwich.

“I really don’t want any part of this conversation,” Andy says, although there is amusement in her eyes. She takes her plate to eat in her office.

“There is no conversation!” Joe calls after her. “These idiots aren’t saying anything.”

“What’s being said?” Nicky asks when he reenters the dayroom, supplies in hand. He sets the pile down on the table and starts divvying up the tools between Nile and himself.

“Nothing,” Joe says quickly, his face hot. “They’re just being stupid.” He sends Booker a warning look, daring him to say something.

Booker grins cheekily and resumes eating.

Nicky sits down and takes a drink of coffee, then makes a face and sets the mug aside. Joe finds this delightful.

“What’s wrong with the coffee?” Joe asks.

“Nothing’s wrong with the coffee.” Nicky gestures for Joe to lift up his hand and then spreads out a sterile sheet on the table.

“He doesn’t like the coffee,” Nile says to Booker.

“Finally, someone with taste. I’ve been saying this for years,” Booker throws up his hands. “We need one of those machines with the little pods. I’m telling you—we put a sign out front, and we’ll get a dozen machines donated by the end of shift. Problem solved.”

“Those machines are incredibly wasteful,” Nicky murmurs, cutting through the tape keeping the gauze in place on Joe’s finger. He inspects the wound again. Joe is not really following the conversation now because his focus is back on Nicky’s gloved fingers touching his skin.

“How is it wasteful?” Booker asks, leaning back on two legs of his chair. “You only make one cup a time.”

“It’s the plastic from the pods,” Nile says.

“Yes, exactly,” Nicky nods. “No, we need an espresso machine. It doesn’t have to be fancy.”

“But we could still get one donated,” Booker continues thoughtfully. “Maybe I’ll make a sign for out front.”

“You go do that,” Joe recommends.

Booker laughs and gives a cheeky salute before leaving for the dorm.

“Now, you can see he needs stitches because of the depth of the cut,” Nicky explains, turning Joe’s hand toward Nile so she can see the wound better. “There are a lot of nerve endings in the hand. Even though I probably would not stitch a cut like this on another part of the body, like his arm, stitches are the best way to make sure it heals properly and he doesn’t lose any function or mobility in his finger.”

Joe could think of a few ways to use his fully functioning and mobile finger to thank Nicky, but he is too transfixed by the way Nicky’s accent transforms the word “stitches,” and the gentle way he wipes away Joe’s blood every few seconds as he explains to Nile. There’s such a calm, sure quality to the way he speaks. Joe thinks if he was actually bleeding out, Nicky would be able to convince him he wasn’t. Nicky has probably done that for a lot of people, Joe realizes.

Then, Nicky’s attention turns back to Joe. “How are you feeling?”

Joe is once again trapped by Nicky’s gaze, momentarily blanking. Then he quickly looks back at Nicky’s hand on his palm to make sure he isn’t taking Joe’s pulse again. “Mild discomfort. Nothing too bad.”

Nicky seems satisfied with this answer, and he nods. “I’m going to give you a local anesthetic, so you don’t feel when I’m stitching the cut.”

It’s stupid, but the idea of not feeling Nicky’s touches is a little disappointing.

The procedure takes longer than it probably would have normally, only because Nicky is explaining every step to Nile. Joe also learns a few things, although it’s somewhat surreal to see his own flesh pulling together with the thread. Good thing he doesn’t get squeamish.

At the end of it, Nile has a banana with a row of slightly lopsided stitches, and Joe’s finger has three of the smallest, most beautiful stitches he’s ever seen. Nicky wraps the fresh sutures with care. Joe’s finger is still tingly from the anesthetic, his skin alight from so much contact with Nicky.

“You have to take it easy with this hand. If you tear out the stitches, I’m taking you to A&E,” Nicky says as he secures the bandage.

“Are you threatening me?” Joe asks, his lips turning up at the thought.

“Yes, that is a threat,” Nicky deadpans. “Please be careful. I will check it again at the end of our shift.”

Joe can’t stop himself from smiling.

Nicky picks up Nile’s banana to better inspect her stitching. He instructed her as they went along, and her form noticeably improved. Nicky starts to talk about thread tension, and Joe gets up, grabbing the plates with their lunch and returns to the table, setting one in front of Nicky.

“Are you going to drink that?” Joe asks, looking at Nicky’s coffee cup as he takes a bite of his sandwich.

“What?” Nicky asks, then follows Joe's gaze to the mug. Nicky makes a face. “You don’t want that.”

“Not if it gets much colder.”

“I drank out of it,” Nicky reminds him.

“For like two seconds.” Joe smirks, then asks again, “Are you going to drink it?”

Nicky’s nose scrunches up. It’s adorable. “No.”

Joe purposefully reaches across the table in front of Nicky, turning the mug around so he can grasp the handle, and pulls it slowly across the table. Nicky watches Joe as he lifts the mug to his lips and takes a long drink. It is too cold now, but that isn’t going to stop Joe.

Nicky looks mildly disgusted, which makes Joe laugh.

“It’s not that bad,” Joe lies.

“Alright,” Nicky says, and it sounds exactly like he’s saying, ‘you’re wrong.’

Joe glances at Nile, and she’s beaming at him. Then she mouths the words _low down_ , and Joe makes a strangled noise.

Nicky’s eyebrows furrow. “What happened?” He glances at Nile, who looks innocent.

“Joe’s weird sometimes,” she shrugs.

“I see,” Nicky’s eyebrows furrow, glancing back at Joe.

Joe balks. “I’m just as normal as the rest of them.”

“That doesn’t really say much,” Nile points out.

Nicky picks up the proffered sandwich. Before he can take the first bite, the alarm blares through the house. The speaker announces, “Engine 99, Ambulance 43, structural collapse, Leadenhall Street.”

Joe and Nicky’s eyes meet, and Joe’s jaw sets. Nicky gives him a slight nod. They’re up and at the vehicles in less than a minute, fully suited up.

* * *

The accident site is a six-story underground parking structure still under construction. The parking garage was meant to service the surrounding banks and corporate offices. Unfinished concrete pillars enforced with rebar jut up from the slab at predictable intervals, except on the east side where the concrete has cracked and caved. The pillars meant to hold up the next floor are tilting into each other like an upside down V. A crane poised over the site stands still, waiting. Eight engines and twelve ambulances respond to the collapse site, with more on the way.

The foreman reports that sixty-four workers were on site that day. Sixty-one workers are accounted for and moved to triage in the staging area. Most of the workers are treated for minor injuries, although ambulances transport a handful of workers who suffered head wounds, crushing injuries, or severe lacerations.

Andy takes command of the search and rescue operation.

“We are looking for three people,” Andy announces to the collection of emergency personnel at the edge of the construction site. They are standing in the contamination reduction zone, affectionately deemed the warm zone. Joe can see Nile and Nicky a ways away in the support zone, also known as the cold zone, where they are triaging workers and removed from the danger of a second collapse. Joe and Booker will spend the rest of the day in the exclusion zone, the heart of the collapse. The hot zone.

Andy looks down at the paper she’s holding, unphased by the sprinkling rain. “Our missing workers are Jack Tice, Rani Patel, and Vihaan Kashyap. There are unfinished elevator banks at each corner of the structure. Teams will be using those as a vertical access point to rappel down to the lower levels. From visual inspection, every elevator bank except the southeast corner appears to be clear. The building is still unstable, so we will not be cutting through rebar or concrete until we get the all clear from the engineers.”

Joe and Booker share a sidelong look, and Joe rolls his eyes at Booker's pouty expression. Booker loves using heavy machinery.

Andy continues, “The foreman doesn’t know where the workers were when the collapse happened, so we will sweep the floors from highest to lowest. Use the standard building marking system after an area has been searched. You’ll be rappelling down in pairs. Stay together. One team per floor per corner. If you locate a live victim who is trapped, our first priority is to stabilize the victim. Our paramedics are on standby to join you if extraction is not immediately feasible. Any questions?” No one says anything, and Andy nods. “Get geared up, I’ll assign you your breach locations inside the hot zone.”

As the group disperses, a lone figure at the scene perimeter barricade catches Andy’s eye. Her jaw sets and she crosses over to him, dirt and debris crunching under her boots.

“This is a closed site.”

“I’m standing behind the barrier,” he says. His hands are in his pockets, but his posture is rigid.

Andy narrows her eyes at him, taking in his severe haircut and meticulously trimmed beard. “Whatever you’re looking for, you’re not going to find it. Tell your boss he can talk to me if he has an issue with the way I run fire and rescue.”

“I’m sure I don’t know who you mean,” he says, sounding bored.

“I know exactly who you work for, Keane,” she says sharply. “Tell Merrick to back off.”

“I’m not employed by the city,” he says coolly. “I don’t know what the mayor has to do with this.”

“We are working an emergency scene; you need to leave.”

Keane is unphased. “I heard you got a new paramedic,” he says, apropos of nothing. “Shame about Lykon, although I suppose he’s lucky to be alive. People are saying it was your management that almost got him killed. Or your lack of management, rather.”

Andy takes a step forward, the wooden barrier scraping against the ground as it hits her at the hip. Her gaze locks onto Keane’s, and her eyes narrow slightly. Neither of them speaks for a long moment. Then, “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Keane takes a calculated step back. “Maybe you’ll have better luck with the new one. Hope you can trust him though. Loyalties, and all that.” He shrugs.

Andy doesn’t rise to the bait. “Officer,” she calls, and the nearby uniformed officer jogs over to them. Andy turns to face her, her voice calm. “These barriers are too close to the scene. Please move them back another hundred meters.”

“Of course, ma’am,” the officer nods. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to step back.”

Keane has already turned and is walking away.

Andy doesn’t look away from Keane’s retreating form until he rounds the corner of the street, and then she chances a look over to Engine 99. Joe and Booker are unloading the rappelling gear, and Nicky has stopped beside them to talk. Andy’s jaw tenses as she swallows. She turns away to return to the scene.

* * *

Joe pulls on his rappelling harness, buckling it at his waist and his hips, tightening the straps. Booker unloads the tripod.

Nicky pauses beside them on his way from the triage tarps, a jump bag on his shoulder containing all the tools he needs to administer basic life support. “I’ve been tapped along with a few other paramedics to join you in the hot zone. I will be ready to go down if you can’t get a victim up.”

“We are pretty good at rescuing people,” Joe says, grabbing the rope out of the truck. Then he remembers Nicky hasn’t eaten anything for lunch. Joe had a few bites of sandwich, but he’s pretty sure that Nicky left his lunch untouched. “Do you want a granola bar or something?” he asks suddenly.

“Do you have a granola bar?” Nicky asks, sounding like he already knows the answer.

“There’s probably one—” Joe gestures back at the cab “—in the truck or something.”

Nicky’s lips twitch up. “I’ll be fine. I don’t usually eat lunch.”

Joe makes a face. “That doesn’t sound very healthy.”

“How about you let me worry about what’s healthy?”

“I’m with Joe on this one,” Booker chimes in, buckling his rappelling harness before putting on his helmet, checking the light. “Three square meals a day; that’s the good stuff.”

“I’m just very particular about what I eat,” Nicky says with a tiny shrug.

“So you’re picky,” Booker grins.

“I didn’t say picky, I said particular.”

“That sounds like picky to me,” Joe says, and he shares a grin with Booker.

Nicky lets out a little huff, adjusting the jump bag on his shoulder. “I’ll see you over there.” He pauses. “And be careful.” Joe watches Nicky walk away, unable to stop himself from enjoying how good the London Fire Brigade jacket and trousers look on him.

Booker and Joe are the third-floor team for the northeast corner. The first- and second-floor teams rappel down first, and then it’s Joe’s turn to walk carefully down the sheer face of the empty concrete elevator shaft. Joe has rappelled a hundred times before, and he has long lost any fear of falling. Still, something niggles in his mind about distances—six-story drop…about twenty-one meters. Likely enough to kill him if he fell, but an unlucky fall from that height would leave him alive and crippled.

Joe looks up at the cloudy gray sky as he steps down slowly, the taut rope feeding through his fingers as he moves steadily downward. Andy is watching him, and she gives him a nod. Joe steps onto the third-floor landing and unfastens his rope. It slithers back up the wall as Booker prepares to join him. It’s pitch black inside the structure. The city cut all the utilities after the collapse.

Joe flicks on the light affixed to his helmet, casting a beam around the immediate area. The nearby pillars are cracked under the strain of the collapse, and dust and debris cloud the air. Some forty meters into the structure, Joe can see where part of the second floor caved in.

Booker joins Joe a moment later, adjusting the rappelling harness around his hips when he unlatches himself from the rope. “Hate those things,” he mutters, turning on his light and getting a lay of the area. “Alright, let’s do this.”

Joe nods, then raises his voice, “Fire Brigade, call out.” His voice echoes in the cavernous darkness, but no one replies. They start moving methodically through the space, leaving flags as they search, calling out at intervals.

After fifteen minutes of searching, the radio at Joe’s shoulder crackles. “Alpha team 5, Jack Tice located forty meters due north of southwest entry point on two. DOA.”

Booker and Joe look at each other. Their helmet lights are harsh on each other’s faces, and the dust clings to their skin and hair.

“Copy alpha 5, tag for retrieval and keep searching,” Andy replies over the radio. “Teams check in.”

The search teams check in over the radio one by one, Booker confirming on their turn that they are okay.

They move deeper into the structure, careful not to touch any walls or pillars as the structure looks more and more precarious. Joe looks up into the hole to the floor above, his light sweeping over the jagged edges of the concrete. Mangled rebar juts out of the broken ceiling like the spindly arthritic fingers of a skeleton. They’re climbing over rubble now, the remains of the ceiling and the pillars crunching beneath their heavy boots. It’s slower going, each step calculated and careful. The floor here could just as easily give way. Joe continues to project his voice, “Fire Brigade, call out.” His call echoes back at them through the emptiness.

Joe's radio crackles to life again. “Alpha team 9, we have Vihaan Kashyap on four. Victim suffering from head injury but otherwise stable. Moving him to southeast entry point for extraction.”

“Copy Alpha 9. We’ll have a basket for you at southeast entry point.”

Booker looks around, letting out a sigh. “So that just leaves—”

“Rani Patel.”

“Exactly,” Booker says, turning to witness just as Joe slides onto his knees in front of a pile of rubble, dirt and debris almost completely hiding the woman from view.

“Rani, can you hear me?” Joe asks, using his thick gloves to clear the debris around her face first. She lets out a small groan. Her hardhat is still in place, but her black hair is grey with dust, blending into her surroundings. Her eyes are dazed as she blinks at them. She’s alive.

“Alpha team 4, we have Rani Patel on three,” Booker says into the radio at his shoulder, taking in the two broken pillars beside her. The way the pillars fell is supporting the ceiling in this area, ominous cracks spiderwebbing outward on the floor above. Rani's left arm is completely hidden from view beneath the pillars, but Booker's light illuminates the thick, black fluid wetting the rubble beneath her. Booker presses the button down on his radio again. “We need a medic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so incredibly grateful for all your support and thoughtful comments on this fic despite the long absence. This chapter would not have been possible without the help of my incorrigible and inspiring beta, Sam. A huge thank you to [Noelia](https://noenoaholi.tumblr.com/) for hyping me up and making the most _beautiful_ art for this fic, [here](https://noenoaholi.tumblr.com/post/627215667905576960/fanart-based-on-extrication-by-kelly-on-ao3-nicky). Emergency services and disaster response advice from the amazing [iridaceae314](https://iridaceae314.tumblr.com/). Invaluable medical advice from the incredible [zexlot](https://zexlot.tumblr.com/).  
> 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for commenting! Visit me on [tumblr](https://almostcanon.tumblr.com/).


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